Heroes Exist
by Bugsyboo1313
Summary: The characters Sherlock and Doctor Who replace The Avengers. Moriarty, Loki, and The Master team up to destroy the world, and the Avengers must work together to save it. See inside for list of characters and who they are, and warnings. Rated T for language later on and some violent images. Please review. Thanks! :-)


**Heroes Exist (Chapter 1)**

Invitations

**WARNINGS: Language/Images later on**

***This is a combination of BBC Sherlock/Doctor Who/The Avengers. The characters of Sherlock & Doctor Who replace the characters in The Avengers. Below is a list so you can know who is supposed to be who:**

**Sherlock Holmes: **Himself/Iron Detective (Iron Man)

**John Watson: **Himself/Captain Britain (Captain America)

**Mycroft Holmes: **Himself/Nick Fury

**Greg Lestrade: **Himself/Inspector Eye (Hawkeye)

**Molly Hooper: **Herself/Pepper Potts

**Irene Adler: **Herself/Agent Maria Hill

**The Doctor (10): **Himself/Iron Timelord (Iron Patriot)

**Amelia Pond: **Herself/Black Pond (Black Widow)

**Rory Williams: **Himself/Agent Phil Coulson

**The Doctor (11): **Himself/Sonic (Thor)

**Jack Harkness: **Himself/Hark (Hulk)

***This version will be slightly different from the actual Avengers movie. **

***Note: Molly is not in a relationship with Sherlock. None of the relationships in the Avengers are the same as in this story. **

_**I do not own Sherlock, The Avengers, or Doctor Who. This story is for entertainment only. **_

* * *

Silence choked the old, peaceful flat. Two mates shared the apartment located in the middle of London; one was sleeping undisturbed in his bedroom, chest rising and falling rhythm-like. The other was pondering thoughts in his frivolous mind, glaring at the deserted Baker Street down below from behind the glossy window. Every time he let out a painful sigh, the glass absorbed the perspiration from his breath, fading and hazing into fog before his eyes.

The man in the window, about five foot seven in height, tightened the loose belt hooked on his black and white striped dressing gown. A mug of steaming coffee, no sugar, sat untouched on the table inches from his fingertips. He craned his neck, hearing it crack while he rubbed his left shoulder, massaging his kneaded muscles. His fingers ran through his short sandy blonde hair as he grabbed a tuff of it.

Those words could never escape his mind. Even after almost ten years.

"_Post traumatic stress disorder is common in soldiers. It's going to take you a while to adjust to civilian life…"_

The retired army doctor tried to swallow the lump in the back of his throat, but found himself unsuccessful in doing so. He watched a woman walk along the empty sidewalk, briefcase in hand and a purple coat wrapped tightly around her slim body. _Probably getting home from a night shift…_he considered, trying to pull the trick his flat mate always did. Whether it was to embarrass people, solve crimes, or prove a point, Sherlock always made deductions to show off.

He had to stop remembering the old days. Back in Afghanistan, under a sweltering sun, melting from the heat, trudging over sand everywhere, with soldiers yelling all around and people collapsing on all sides, falling into death.

If he didn't try to avoid the flashbacks, he might as well have gone insane. Tonight was the third time that month the soldier had woken up recurring events back in his war days.

The man bent forward to let the weight of his head fall forwards, smacking lightly onto the ice cold glass. The only light source in the room came from the lanterns lining the street curb outside, which casted a shadowy gloom over the carpeted floor. He could see his own black shadow painted across the floor, smushed in the outline of the window frame.

He was unaware of his partner tiptoeing into the room from the kitchen hallway, peering mysteriously around the corner, a worried expression on his face. His brown curls were flattened on one half of his head; clear signs he'd been sleeping on one side of his body. His eyes were groggy, and he groaned as he stepped into the open room, gesturing towards his only friend.

"John…" he whispered, and the shorter human peeled his skull from the slimy window. Watson remained silent, wondering why Holmes was up at this hour for no reason. Of course, Sherlock never got a proper amount of sleep, and it never seemed to bother him. He could function properly on four hours of sleep.

Sherlock strolled over to the opposite side of the living room, flicking on a lamp light switch in between his long pale fingers. His sharp cheekbones were illuminated by the orange glow, yet half of his face was concealed by a midnight shadow. His blue dressing gown was open and hung loosely by his ribs, and John thought he looked remotely strange in a pair of pajama bottoms and a crummy t-shirt.

"John…?" Sherlock repeated, this time as a quizzical question. There was no need for Sherlock to ask another question.

John could barely read the digital numbers on the stove clock in the kitchen with his tired eyes. _3:52 A.M. _

"Nightmare," he mumbled, tracing the circumference of his cup with his fingernail. Sherlock compressed his lips in an uncomfortable gesture, and sighing, he sank onto the couch.

"Come here," he motioned for John to join him. Watson picked up his boiling coffee mug and followed Sherlock's order. The liquid, even behind glass stung and burned his skin, and he felt relieved when he set it down on the table in front of his destination. John let his weight sink onto the cushions, and a few seconds later, Sherlock arm was draped over his shoulders.

John shuttered and Sherlock rolled over in his scientific mind the best way to comfort his colleague. "Do you, um…want to talk about it…?" he asked after a few lingering moments of silence.

Holmes wasn't surprised when his friend denied his help. He brought Watson's body in closer to his chest, and John's head rested on his body as a pillow. He spoke soothing words into his friend's ear. "Try to go back to sleep John."

John didn't need to be told twice. In minutes his light and steady breathing was heard escaping out of his nostrils, and Holmes smiled. The warm cup of coffee was left on the table, untouched for the remainder of the early morning.

Sherlock delicately adjusted John's sleeping figure on the couch so he could turn off the light in the room. Instead, he found an extra candle left by Mrs. Hudson on the kitchen counter and lit it with a spare match.

Soon the smell of cinnamon filled the flat, and Sherlock fell asleep in his favorite black plush armchair, watching John sleep undisturbed, alone on the couch. His eyes could no longer stay open and fell with tiredness, his wrist bone digging into the skin on his face.

* * *

John awoke in the morning to a blinding ray of sunlight pouring into the room, and it took his brain a few minutes to process the fact that he wasn't in his bedroom. When his eyes focused on the world and reality, the first thing he saw was Sherlock, propped up in his chair with his clamped hands pressed to his mouth. Holmes was dressed in his usual black blazer and matching pants, with his white buttoned shirt hidden underneath.

"Morning," Sherlock commented without changing his gaze from his position, seeing John shift in the corner of his eye. John rubbed his eyes and shuffled a hand through his hair, giving himself more of a bed head than he already had.

"Wuz the time…?" John mumbled, unable to speak clearly.

"Half past nine." Sherlock finally shifted his view to stare at his blogger, bouncing his crossed legs up and down to keep himself occupied.

Suddenly, there was a slam from downstairs of the front door, the brass knocker clinking on the wood outside. Footsteps were heard bounding up the stairs, and seconds later Detective Inspector Lestrade flew into the room.

"Oh, hello John," he spoke in his strong British accent, slightly confused why John was still lazing around the flat.

"Have you come to give me another case?" Sherlock asked, lengthening his back in hopefulness.

Lestrade pulled out a stack of documents from the depths of his long coat, and Sherlock's face morphed into a puzzled look. "Well, I wouldn't exactly consider it a case…" The stack of paper was thrown across the room, and Sherlock caught them easily.

"Come to think of it," Lestrade considered, checking the time on his silver wrist watch. "I don't understand. Those papers were delivered to me this morning. They involve you, me, and John."

"Me?" Watson sat up, wondering what on earth anything had to do with him.

"Yeah…but that's not all…" Lestrade was cut off by the door downstairs opening again, and it was closed softer this time. Sherlock rolled his eyes in their sockets as his older brother, Mycroft Holmes, strolled royally into the sitting area.

"Spying on me again, Mycroft?" Sherlock teased, slamming his elbows onto the arms of his chair.

"No. It was I who sent those documents to you Lestrade." Greg looked bewildered and tried to get help from Sherlock, who ignored him.

"What for?" John asked, attempting to flatten his blonde locks onto the crown of his head. "Why would you want us three Mycroft?" He was trying to act smug yet polite in the same sentence.

"A matter of national importance has arisen," Mycroft started, twirling his black umbrella in his grasp.

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders to force Mycroft to get to his point. "It has come to my conclusion, that a group of people, _special _people I should say…" Lestrade seemed to stand taller, John went confused again, and Sherlock had no interest.

"Are being brought together to form a group that will, save the world if you must say." Mycroft finished by putting a smirk on his face, and by this point all three listeners were lost.

"Sherlock," Mycroft gave his brother an eyebrow, "Moriarty is not the only villain who plans to destroy this world. It seems that two others just have powerful have decided to team up with him."

"I still don't get it," Lestrade interrupted. "Why are we being contacted then?"

Mycroft made sure to pronounce every syllable in his next sentence crystal clearly, knowing two thirds of his listeners wouldn't understand his next question.

"Sherlock, John, Lestrade…" he paused in between each name, indicating them by bowing his head. "Have you ever heard of The Avengers Initiative?"

***It might take me a while to update chapters. I am currently writing like four stories, just so you're aware. Feel free to read my other stories while you're waiting for this one. **

***Hope you liked the first chapter! :-)**


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